


Heroism Runs In the Family, Apparently

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [58]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hawke's Warden Contact, PC Warden shows up in place of Alistair/Loghain/Stroud in DAI, Swearing, The Warden - Freeform, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage!Prompt 2: What If your Warden was the Warden Contact in Inquisition?Instead of Warden Stroud, Hawke's contact in the Grey Wardens is her cousin, the Hero of Ferelden.





	Heroism Runs In the Family, Apparently

Eylarra wiped the rain from her eyes before ducking into the cave. She knew that the weather in Ferelden was typically foul for the time of year, but this was ridiculous! Crestwood had been non-stop rain from the moment she’d arrived the previous day. Oh, there was a variety of rain: drizzly rain, misty rain, the rain that came in big fat drops that soaked even the thickest of layers, or her least favorite, rain that blew horizontally. But it was all still rain. Nothing but rain. Privately, she was homesick for the coastal weather of Ostwick. At least Ostwick had variety in its weather.

As she blinked away the blurriness in her vision, a woman with midnight black hair, silver eyes, and a great-axe at her back stepped forward. She was adorned in spiky armor that might’ve been blue once upon a time. It took a moment for the Inquisitor’s memory to recollect the warrior’s name. _Ah, yes. The Champion of Kirkwall. Varric’s friend._ The person Cassandra apparently had been searching for without luck. Hawke. _Ava Hawke._

“Glad you could make it. I just got here myself,” the slightly shorter woman said. ‘Short’ was relative, Eylarra was easily eye-level to most human men, if not slightly taller.

“My contact with the Wardens should be at the back of the cave,” Ava indicated with a nod of her head. “Do hurry up, she’s been feeling a bit… uneasy. She’s been wanting to find a new hidey hole.”

Eylarra frowned. “Well, I can’t say I blame her. I ran into a group of Wardens out there. They were hunting. Said they were after a traitor.” She held back her sour thoughts about their refusal to stay and help with the nearby village. Wardens were supposedly protectors, or so the stories said, and yet they’d left, claiming that their leader’s orders were more important.

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Of course they’d say that. They may even believe it. Wait. You weren’t followed were you?”

Eylarra shot a questioning look to her companions. Blackwall, Sera, and Dorian turned and peered out into the damp wilderness that lay out beyond the cave’s mouth.

“I do believe we’re the only ones foolish enough to have made the soggy trek out here,” the Tevinter mage replied.

The Champion sighed and shook her head. “How much blood has been shed by good men following bad orders? Come on, let’s not keep her waiting.” Without waiting for a reply, Ava trotted deeper into the cave.

Eylarra followed at a less harried pace, taking time to note the rough torches hanging from the cave’s walls, the stalagmites stabbing upward from the floor and the stalactites that reached downward from the ceiling as if they were teeth in the jaws of some giant predator. She would’ve felt a touch unnerved were it not for the soft chittering of nugs as they fled from the presence of people in what was probably a safe haven for them in most circumstances. All too soon, she found a wooden door next to a banner depicting a blindfolded skull. Shrugging, she pushed it open and stepped over the threshold.

Lady Trevelyan froze in place when she heard the singing whisper of steel being pulled from sheaths. A voice hissed from behind.

“Not one more step. Identify yourself, if you wish to remain among the living.” The voice was male. It held the same musical accent as Josephine. Not a woman. Most decidedly _not_ the Champion’s contact.

Eylarra turned around very, very slowly, hands held up and empty. She looked downward. An elven man with deep bronze skin, strikingly pale blond hair, and a set of curving tattoos on the left side of his face held a sword and a dagger aimed at her. The look in his golden brown eyes screamed that he meant business.

Ava burst through the door, eyes wide in panic. “Zevran, wait! It’s just us! I brought the Inquisitor!”

‘Zevran’ scowled at both women and their companions before slowly putting his weapons away. Several heartbeats later, a small delicately built woman sporting the same midnight black hair and silver eyes as the Champion came out from wherever it was she’d been hiding and drifted to the elf’s side. Eylarra couldn’t help but notice the staff the newcomer held with a firm grip, the icy blue crystal at its top glittering in the firelight as small puffs of fog lazily trailed down before vanishing entirely. The elf wrapped an arm around her waist, still eyeing the intruders warily.

“This is her, cousin?” the woman asked.

Eylarra cocked a brow. _“_ _Cousin?”_ she asked with incredulity.

The Champion nodded. “Our mothers’ sides, they were sisters.” She turned her attention back to the Warden and her elven companion. “These other three are with her, as well. Can’t blame them for not letting her out without bodyguards, now can you?”

The small woman gave a brief nod and then favored Eylarra with a searching gaze. After several moments of silence, she transferred the staff from her hand to a holding loop on the back of her armor. The blue-dyed leather and silverite gear bore a griffon motif.

“I am Sevarra Arainai, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. This is my husband, Zevran Arainai. Would that we could’ve met under better circumstances, Inquisitor,” the Warden said by way of introduction.

“I am Eylarra Trevelyan,” the Inquisitor gestured first to herself, and then to her companions. “With me are Sera, Lord Dorian of House Pavus, and Warden Blackwall.”

The Warden tilted her head and let her wordless gaze linger on Blackwall for several heartbeats as if sizing him up. “Blackwall, hm… Orlesian, yes?”

“I was stationed there for a time. But I go where duty dictates,” he replied.

“Leliana said that both you and your chapter vanished, leaving no trace behind. She’d sent some of her best people out looking to no avail,” Eylarra cut back in.

Sevarra smirked. “She would do that, wouldn’t she? I _might_ have considered coming out voluntarily had she come looking for me herself. The way things have been in recent months, I’ve become rather… distrustful of strangers.”

Zevran huffed, his scowl deepening. “A bit of an understatement, my dear.”

“Darling, I’ve long since learned to not take people trying to kill me personally. Granted, sending Seekers after me _was_ a bit of a novelty if nothing else. They lasted longer than the other would-be assassins,” the Warden chuckled.

The Inquisitor forced herself to not stare with her jaw agape, took a deep breath and began. “Perhaps you can help enlighten me. Most of you Wardens disappear. Then I run into a darkspawn magister calling itself Corypheus. Do you think that one might have something to do with the other?”

Sevarra frowned. “I fear you are correct. My cousin here, Ava, slew Corypheus. Once news of it reached them, Weisshaupt was happy to consider the matter resolved. But,” she sighed, “I learned in my studying after the Blight that an archdemon can survive wounds that would prove fatal to any other creature. I began to have a horrible suspicion that this Corypheus might have the same little trick. I went digging for more information. I found hints, clues, but nothing concrete.”

“But then how did you manage to slay that archdemon in Denerim?” Ava asked pointedly.

The Warden sighed. “Well… the exact reason is a closely guarded secret. I’m not going to tell it to just anyone. The most I _can_ tell you that is when a Grey Warden is the one to deliver the killing blow, the archdemon _stays_ dead. If not, it just resurrects and shows up again several days later, as people discovered to their utter horror during the first Blight.”

“And the reason the Wardens in Ferelden and Orlais have vanished is that…?” Eylarra spoke up in a less-than-patient tone.

Sevarra frowned. “In the Orlesians’ case, not long after my investigation, they all began to hear the Calling. I... had sent my men, the Ferelden Wardens, off on a mission shortly before that.”

Ava scowled. “All of your men?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The Warden glowered and spun to face her cousin. “Because it was important! It still is important! I cannot say more than that!”

“Another thing, why in the sodding hell didn’t you tell me about this Calling business?! That’s a rather important bit of information to keep in your pocket!”

“It was a Grey Warden matter. I’m bound by an oath of secrecy. In spite of my disagreements with some of the choices my superiors have made, I still take most of my oaths seriously,” the shorter woman snapped.

Lady Trevelyan put herself between the bickering kinswomen, favoring both with a withering glare. Zevran returned her glare, hands drifting toward the hilts of the weapons hanging at his hips but doing nothing further. Yet. A wordless hand on his forearm and a gentle shaking of his wife’s head made him back down. For the moment.

“Is it possible that Corypheus is using this Calling to control the Grey Wardens? What is it, precisely?” Eylarra asked once it was clear that the bickering was put aside. She suspected that it would resume once she was out of earshot.

“Not exactly, Your Worship,” Sevarra replied. “The Calling warns a Grey Warden that his or her time left is growing short. Once we begin to hear it, it won’t be much longer before the Blight will overtake us. Traditionally, we say our farewells and go to meet our deaths in combat in the Deep Roads. The vast majority prefer to face death while still themselves.”

“Let me get this straight, every Warden in Orlais hearing is that right now? They believe they’re going to die soon?” the Champion asked in a disbelieving tone.

“Yes,” the Warden answered softly, her gaze falling to her feet. “Likely because of Corypheus. If all the Grey Wardens fall, who will defend civilization against the next Blight? This is our order’s greatest fear.”

“Soo… he’s not controlling them. He’s playing a trick, and they fell for it,” Hawke mused while rubbing her chin. “Which in turn makes them desperate and willing to consider nearly anything. Playing into his hands, no doubt.”

“How is Corypheus able to make so many Wardens hear this Calling?” Eylarra prodded.

“I don’t know. I know very little of him, save that he’s dangerous. He’s a darkspawn. He’s a mage, perhaps even one of the fabled Magisters of old. And he seems able to utilize blight magic. That last one is very bad for us Wardens, seeing as we are tied to the Blight ourselves; it gives him a path into our minds. I suspect he’s used it in some way to make his fake Calling. Even as a Commander, there were some things that Weisshaupt weren’t eager to share with me. The most I found about him were rumors and hearsay in journals going back many decades.”

“Are you affected?” The Inquisitor turned to face her companions. “And also you, Blackwall?”

The Commander exchanged a look with her husband, her features tired and doleful.

“...Yes. If I’m speaking or fighting, I can mostly drown it out. But it’s always there, waiting.” She shook herself, forcing her features back into neutrality. “With no Wardens around, the next Blight will end the world as we know it. We’re the only ones who can make certain the archdemons stay dead.”

“I do not fear the Calling, and worrying about it only gives it power. Anything Corypheus does will only strengthen my resolve,” Blackwall replied.

Sevarra arched a brow at his statement, but otherwise made no comment on it. The look in her eyes was difficult to read. One hand drifted to her side and found its way into Zevran’s, their fingers interlocking and giving a reassuring squeeze.

“Warden-Commander Clarel, --that Maker damned bitch-- my counterpart in Orlais, spoke of using a blood magic ritual before we all died. I protested. Loudly. I can count the number of times on one finger that blood magic has not ruined things in some way. I told her that her plan was insane. Naturally, my stance didn’t endear me to her or her men. She called me a traitor and demanded my head, probably on a platter knowing her, Orlesain and all that. We had to kill a few of her people so we could escape. Zevran and I have been on the run ever since.”

Sevarra shook her head and sighed. “In any event, Clarel’s people seem to be keenly interested in an old Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach. I think poking around there might uncover some answers. That said, it’d be safer if it were more than just Zevran and myself who did the poking around. We can fight, but we’re still only two people. Maker only knows how many people Clarel’s got stashed in there by now.”

The Warden grabbed her staff and began walking toward the door. Zevran followed after pulling his hood up over his head.

“Do be a dear and meet us there, Your Worship. Preferably with some folks who’re good in a fight. Whatever it is they’re up to, I highly doubt that they’ll appreciate being found out.”


End file.
